Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles 1)

“Try again,” he sighs, as if I'm being difficult on purpose.

“Seriously, I'm fine. Just because I don't text you every five seconds doesn't mean there's something wrong. You don't text me either, so what's wrong with you?” I jab my finger into his chest. Ouch. He tugs his ear twice. Uh oh. That's a Jamie-tell.

“Cassie.” That one word sums up so much. This is not going to be good. He leans up against my locker and closes his eyes.

“She back again?”

“Yeah.” Quickly, he looks around, making sure no one's eavesdropping. The hallway's empty since it's so early. “She's pregnant,” he whispers, leaning down so far I can smell his aftershave.

“Pregnant!” I slap my hand over my mouth like I've just said f**k. Not what I was expecting. It isn't out of left field, but still. No wonder he looks messed up. Cassie is Jamie's older screw-up of a sister who'd gotten kicked out of school and arrested. Twice.

“Don't say that so loud. She hasn't told my parents.” His eyes flick around to make sure no one overheard. We're good.

“She told you?” We're both leaning in, as if we're sharing a delicious piece of gossip. Not so much.

“I guessed.”

“How?”

“I could, you know... see it.” He gestures to his middle, as if he's tracing a basketball stuffed under his shirt.

“Who's the daddy?” It's really none of my business, but I kinda want to know.

“She doesn't know.” He tugs his ear again.

“Awesome.” I see his face and try to curb my sarcasm. I should be more sensitive.

“Just – don't tell anyone.”

“You've got my word of honor.” I put my hand over my heart.

“Thanks, Ave. I can always count on you.” He pulls me in for a hug. One of the things I love about Jamie is he's such a good hugger. He isn't afraid to touch me. He doesn't try to scoop me up like a child. He just folds himself around me, pulling me into his chest where I can hear his heart. It's just not enough. I wish it was.

“I'm here. If you need anything.” I should have said this earlier, but at least I remember to say it at all.

“I know. Same goes for you,” he says in my ear.

“I know.” The words thrash behind my lips, and I clamp my mouth shut, biting my lips to keep them in. I can't let them out. I can't tell anyone else. My mother is going to die.

“You sure you're okay?”

“Yup.” Another smile. My fingers twist together, as tangled as my thoughts.

“I like your scarf. I meant to tell you yesterday.” He flicks it with one finger. I try not to look freaked out when he does it.

“Thanks, my aunt gave it to me.” I make sure it's covering everything it needs to cover. It's like a nervous tick now. Along with looking around every corner, expecting to see Peter.

Jamie's not the only one to notice the scarf. Tex grabs me on the way to lunch.

“What is with that scarf?” I jump back as she tries to take it off.

“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrow. Tex is always suspicious.

“You're not a scarf kind of girl. What's the story?”

“Aj gave it to me, and I haven't worn it. So I thought I would.” Simple enough. She studies me a second longer, and then relaxes. So do I.

“Copy that. At least she has amazing taste. My mother is always trying to get me into these weird beige things that I wouldn't be caught dead in. Speaking of her, when are we going shopping?” She picks at her neon green nail polish. Why she bothers, I've never understood, but I haven't seen her with nude nails in five years. Two seconds after she paints her nails, she's already smudged one, and she starts chewing a minute after that.

“Don't know. She's really busy with work.” Aj adopted Tex as a surrogate niece. Sometimes I wonder if she likes Tex more than she likes me.

We both get into line and I buy a salad. Tex goes for the greasy-dripping pepperoni pizza. It looks disgusting, making me feel even more secure in the decision to be a vegetarian that I'd made when I was ten after a school trip to a pig farm.

“Have you talked to Jamie?” I say as we find an empty table in the back corner behind a rusty pipe. I'm fishing to see if he's told her. I'm not sure I want to be the only one who knows about the Cassie situation. I've got too many secrets already.

“No, why?” Damn. Now I'm in trouble. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Oh, no reason,” I say, poking at my salad. She tries to smack me in the arm, but I duck aside.

“You whore! Now you have to tell me.”

“It's nothing. Just forget I said anything.”

“Oh, believe me, I won't.” She's already on her phone, furiously texting. Maybe it's sick, but I want them both distracted until my bruises fade. My stomach twists, and my conscience screams, but I ignore them both. Distracting my friends from my issues is so minor, it hardly matters.

Ten

I don't have to work until Tuesday, so I go right home after school to find my very sunburned and bug-bitten mother knee-deep in dirt and weeds.

“You look like some sort of gardening goddess, all covered in dirt.” Her laugh rings out and she wipes her cheek, which only smears more dirt on it. I sit next to her, not minding that my jeans will get covered and my butt's going to get wet. Seeing her looking so healthy makes me feel better.

I tell her about all the silly things from my day, about how they got rid of the chocolate chip cookies at lunch because they're unhealthy, that the lacrosse team is going to States and how Braden Chance got expelled for breaking into the Headmaster's office over the weekend and trying to destroy his computer. He'd succeeded in smashing the motherboard, but he'd forgotten about all the security cameras. There was also that there was a back up computer. Idiot.

“Need any help?” I say after I've yammered her ear off.

“Thanks, ma fleur, but I can manage. You could pull a few weeds, if you're so inclined. It's very satisfying.” It reminds me of when I was little and she'd take me out here and show me how to clean up the beds. Which things to pull, and which to not pull. I'd ruined several of her bulbs by yanking them out, but she'd laughed and just put them back, telling tearful me that it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed.

If only things were that easy now.

“How are you feeling?” I say, yanking out a weed. The soil is cold on my bare hands.

“Much better. Strong. For the first time in a long time.” Her cheeks are red, and not from make-up. She hasn't bothered with a wig, simply wrapped a bright kerchief around her head to keep warm. I like her better like this.